“Two hours ago.”

“You must be tired.”

“Sleeping sounds like a terrific idea. But I wanted to call you first. You know, listen to my wife’s lovely voice.”

His voice sounded edgy to her. Angry, tired, hurt? She didn’t know anymore and the silence dragged on until she knew he was feeling it, too, the distance that hadn’t seemed like such a big deal at first, but had now grown large enough to frighten.

“Your night?” he asked finally, his voice somber, and not at all like himself.

“There was…an incident.”

“Kimberly?”

“I’m okay. But the informant, the one who’s been calling me. He showed up at the hotel where we were staying and shot himself.”

“Kimberly?”

“He confirmed that Dinchara has been kidnapping and killing prostitutes. The boy helped dispose of the bodies. He was one of Dinchara’s victims, too, kidnapped when he was just a child. He didn’t…He couldn’t…He shot himself. He placed the gun on the side of his temple and blew out his brains. All over my hotel room.”

“Are you okay?” Mac asked softly.

And she surprised them both by saying, “No. I’m not okay. I’m angry. I’m furious. I want to scream, but what’s the use? I’m too late. We’re all too late. This boy needed us ten years ago. We failed him. We failed Ginny Jones, we failed Tommy Mark Evans. This case is nothing but a long trail of heartaches that never should’ve happened. And now I’m standing at the base of something called Blood Mountain, where if I get really lucky, we’ll find even more bodies dumped by the son of a bitch who started it all. I can’t believe I’m going to have a baby in a world where child sex slave rings are growing larger not smaller. Where children are snatched out of their beds, or hotel rooms, or family vacations in state parks. If law enforcement is a war, then we’re losing it, and I’m just…pissed off.”

“I’ll drive up,” Mac said.

“Dammit, no. You’ve been up all night. Get some sleep.”

“Are you by Woody Gap trail or over by the lake?”

“You know Blood Mountain?” she asked, startled.

“I grew up here, remember?”

“Mac…You really should sleep.”

“Just give me two hours. What can go wrong in two hours? I love you, Kimberly, and I’ll see you soon.”

The call ended. Kimberly stood behind the tree, trying to figure out if she was nervous or relieved, frightened or confused. Mostly she was aware of her pulse, still pounding too hard at the base of her neck. And rain, dripping off the tree branches, onto the top of her head and down the back of her neck, until it felt to her as if the woods were crying, and she wasn’t the kind of person for such foolish notions.

So she touched her stomach instead. Gently, tentatively.

“Hello, baby,” she whispered. And a moment later, “I’m sorry,” though she wasn’t entirely sure what she was apologizing for.

Out of the corner of her eye she caught her father standing next to the road, trying to get her attention. She sighed, walking toward him.

“Have you spoken to Ginny Jones this morning?” her father wanted to know.

She shook her head, eyeing him curiously as Rainie crossed the road to where they stood.

“I have a question,” Quincy said. “Something I’d like to ask her. It might help shed light on some things.”

Kimberly shrugged. Bloodhounds were working, the rest of them just standing around. It’s not like they had anything better to do.

“All right, let’s give her a call.” Kimberly dialed the county sheriff’s department, putting her cell phone on speaker and holding it between herself, Quincy, and Rainie, as they huddled close.

When the phone picked up, she gave her name and requested to speak with the officer in charge of booking Ginny Jones. It took a few minutes, then a harried deputy came on the line.

“What’ dya want?” he asked.

“FBI Special Agent Kimberly Quincy. I’m following up on a recent arrest, Virginia Jones. I was wondering when she was scheduled to be arraigned-”

“Already happened.”

“Excuse me?” Her startled gaze flew to her father and Rainie, who appeared equally surprised.

“Arraignment was at nine-thirty a.m. We took her over, bail was set, and she was released at ten-fifteen-”

“Excuse me?” Rainie and Quincy blinked at her angry exclamation, while at the end of the line, the deputy paused.

“Well, the bail was set at ten grand,” the deputy started.

“For accessory in the attempted murder of a federal agent?”

“Well, the subject in question killed himself, not you, so that seemed to take the heart out of the DA’s argument.”

“Ginny had no way of knowing that’s what Aaron would choose to do.”

“I’m just telling you what the judge said. Bail was set at ten grand. The bond was paid-”

“By whom?”

“Umm…” They heard the thunk of a phone being set down, then a voice calling to the back of a room. “Hey, Rick. You know who posted bail for the Jones girl? Was it a local bondsman, family? Huh. Okay.” The deputy returned. “Not a bondsman. Some local. Had a cashier’s check for ten grand. Rick assumes he knew the girl because she hugged him in the parking lot.”

Kimberly closed her eyes. “Tell me he wasn’t wearing a baseball cap.”

“Hey, Rick…” A moment later. “Yep, a red baseball cap.”

“Fuck!” And in that moment, she got it. And she didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry, so she slammed her phone shut and kicked a clump of grass instead. “How could we have been so stupid? Goddammit, she played us like violins!”

Her father and Rainie were looking at her wide-eyed, so she spelled it out for them, still kicking at the grass, feeling almost crazy with rage. “You must kill the one you love. Those are the rules. You must kill the one you love. Aaron Johnson died. What does that really mean?”

Quincy got it first. “She graduated. Ginny Jones set Aaron up so she could graduate.”

“Yep, and we’re the morons who let her get away. Dinchara posted her bail and picked her up. She was spotted hugging him in the parking lot. They’re out, they’re together, and we’re screwed.”

“You don’t believe…” Rainie started.

But their conversation was suddenly interrupted by the loud baying of a hound dog, followed by an excited shout. The three looked up to see a surge of humanity running forward, followed by more excited exclamations. The dogs had picked up the scent, pulling Skeeter and the rest of the team into the woods.

THEY HIKED FOR HOURS, LULU AND FANCY STRAINING their leads in their eagerness to follow the scent. Harold walked beside Skeeter, easily covering the steep, uneven trail as it wound around tree stumps, rocky outcroppings, and washed-out gullies. Periodically, he’d stop and tie an orange surveyor’s ribbon around a tree, marking the trail for his slower, more human, counterparts. Rachel had also assigned Harold camera duty, assuming he’d get to the site before everyone else and could get to work documenting the scene.

Several ERT members stayed behind to man the van, in touch by radio. Should need for additional supplies arise, Rachel could call in her order, with an agent following the orange ties up the mountain. Per protocol, everyone wore flak jackets and carried first-aid kits as well as personal firearms. Safety was always a primary concern, even when pursuing dead bodies.

Kimberly fell back sooner than she would’ve liked. Her mind was willing. Her body had other ideas. She could feel a pulling sensation where the top of her thighs met her steadily increasing abdomen. The tight stretch of tendons and ligaments already struggling to adjust to one demand on the body, without the additional pressure of sprinting up a mountain. Quincy and Rainie walked beside her. Kimberly presumed Sal was farther ahead, up with the action.